


if (touched by love's own secret)

by raedear



Series: you had me at hello (fresh) [5]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, Love, M/M, Sick Fic, the mortifying ordeal of meeting your new boyfriend's friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 11:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30071868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raedear/pseuds/raedear
Summary: The combining of Joe and Nicky's lives, one experience at a time.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: you had me at hello (fresh) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2166849
Comments: 39
Kudos: 215





	if (touched by love's own secret)

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be real with you. This was just an excuse to write them being soft together. Please set your expectations accordingly.

Joe would be the first to admit he's been a little distracted all week. Can anyone blame him though? He's been in the first delightful stages of flirting with a beautiful, talented, charming Italian man, and he thinks he deserves to be cut a little slack, frankly.

Booker, obviously, does not agree, as Joe learns very quickly on an otherwise lovely Saturday morning. 

'Oh _hello_ ,' Booker's voice somehow echoes through the entire house when he beats Joe to the ringing doorbell. 'You must be the famous _Nicolò_!' 

Joe breaks into a dead sprint down the stairs.

'Ah— good morning?' Nicky sounds thrown, and Joe moves even faster.

'It's nice to— _fuck!_ ' 

Before Booker can finish, Joe slams into his hip so hard he knocks him to the floor, out of sight of the front door. Nicky jumps too, taking a step back from the door and looking at Joe in barefaced shock. Joe smiles brightly at him and drapes himself against the doorframe as casually and hopefully attractively as he can. Booker groans on the floor.

'Nicky!' he says as cheerfully as he can. Nicky blinks at him. 'What are you doing here? How are you? Don't worry about him, he's fine.' 

From the floor, Booker groans again— ‘ _f_ _uck off, Yusuf!’_

Nicky raises an eyebrow at him and holds up his Hello Fresh box. They had talked it over during the week and agreed that Nicky should keep him on his route. It would give them a chance to see each other without the pressure of a second (first? Joe isn’t exactly sure) date. Joe doesn't quite know how he managed to forget that when he said Booker could sleep on his couch the night before, but here they are. 

‘Yusuf?’ Nicky’s lip twitches. Joe takes that as a good sign and gives him his most winsome smile. 

‘I could get used to—’ Booker chooses his moment perfectly, kicking Joe in the back of the knee just as he shifts to lean more attractively against the doorframe. Instead of showing himself in his best light, Joe finds himself buckling at the knee and collapsing towards the ground at an alarming rate. 

Obviously, because he’s an actual prince, and because the universe has decided Joe isn’t allowed any dignity at all in front of him, Nicky immediately drops his delivery and catches Joe in his arms. 

Nose crushed against Nicky’s collarbone, Nicky’s broad hands on his back, Joe takes a moment to indulge himself in a huge and exhausted sigh. Nicky even smells amazing. Joe’s pretty sure he still smells a little like the pub the night before, beer and smoke and leftover aftershave. Somewhere behind him, he can hear Booker laughing himself hoarse on the doorstep. 

‘One day,’ says Joe quietly, not moving away from Nicky’s neck. ‘One day I’ll impress you.’ 

Nicky huffs a laugh and squeezes him a little closer. 

‘You always impress me.’

Behind them, Booker gives a disgusted groan. Joe flips him off blindly over his shoulder. 

‘Are you alright, _Yusuf_?’ Nicky murmurs in his ear. Joe indulges himself in a shiver against Nicky’s broad chest before he straightens himself up and steps back. 

‘I’m fine. Booker and I just made some poor choices after five-a-side last night.’ 

Booker’s interruption of _excellent choices, excuse you_ goes unremarked upon. Nicky’s eyes widen with what Joe hopes is understanding. He told Nicky he was playing football with a friend. It’s a Scottish tradition to hit the pub after, he was only doing as his adopted home demanded (at least, that’s how he’s explaining his headache to himself). Nicky smiles at him, that tiny flex of his lip and twitch of his cheek, and Joe feels something loosen in his chest. They’re very, _very_ new, and he knows Booker wouldn’t actually say or do anything to get in his way, but who knows what Nicky must have thought, meeting him on Joe’s doorstep like this. 

‘Did you win?’ Nicky is _smirking_ at him now. Joe is embarrassingly into it. He smirks back and lets himself feel a little smug at how Nicky’s eyes dip to look at his lips for just a beat too long. 

‘Crushed them into the dirt.’ 

Booker gives an affronted gasp from behind him. 

‘You did _n—_ ’ 

‘Ignore him!’ Interrupts Joe, loudly, cutting right through whatever lies Booker was about to spread. ‘Do you have long to go on your shift? We could get lunch?’ 

Nicky glances at his watch and hands his scanner over to Joe to sign. Joe had entirely forgotten about the now slightly-crushed box of food on the ground between them, and he’s gratified to notice that Nicky was the same, if the way he has to tap through three options to sign his name is any indication. 

‘I finish at 3?’ says Nicky, taking the scanner back (Joe hopes he notices that he signed with a heart). 

‘Perfect,’ says Joe, smiling widely at him. That gives him time to evict Booker and corral his curls back into some kind of order. ‘I’ll meet you in town, we can pick somewhere together?’ 

‘It’s a date,’ says Nicky. He’s devastatingly handsome in the sunlight. Joe resists the urge to sigh again at the sight of him and waves goodbye as he turns away to head back to his van. Only when he’s completely out of sight does he turn back to Booker.

He’s sat on the doorstep, elbow on his knee, chin cupped in the palm of his hand. He looks about as hungover as Joe feels, all greasy hair and bruised looking eyes, but even that isn’t enough to constrain his shit-eating grin.

‘He seems nice,’ he says, before leaping to his feet to flee back into the house as Joe jumps for him. 

* * *

Joe asks for it on an otherwise totally normal Wednesday night, five months into their relationship. It's the first time he truly thinks he'll get away with it, and he's vindicated by the twist of Nicky's mouth that he now recognises means he's going to bitch about it, but he'll do it anyway. For good measure though, he lays the charm on extra thick. 

'I don't think this is going to work out the way you want it to,' says Nicky without looking up from his book.

Joe, cheek pressed to Nicky's shoulder, gently plucking at his shirt with the hand not holding Nicky's own, eyes as big and sparkly as he can possibly make them (the light behind Nicky helps, but Joe isn't unaware of his face, and he's got a lot of things he's wanted over the years by virtue of carefully-deployed twinkling) says in an as soft and intimate voice as he can manage: 'Please? For me?' and knows he's going to get his way when Nicky rolls his eyes and kisses his forehead without further comment. 

Joe nuzzles further into his shoulder with a triumphant grin and cuddles Nicky close when he scoffs and jokingly pushes him away. 

'Who let you get so spoiled?' There's a laugh stuck in Nicky's voice, for all his face is straight as an arrow, and Joe gives him the most guileless smile he can manage in return.

'Must be someone who loves me,' he says, because he knows it still makes Nicky blush. It works, and he can't resist leaning up to kiss the tiny smile tucked in the corner of Nicky's lip.

The evening devolves from there, to very mutual delight. 

Despite it being his request and a very memorable night all in, Joe manages to forget the entire conversation within a day. In his defence, he has a busy week with three different deadlines, and he doesn't have a lot of room in his brain for anything other than writing and collapsing face down on Nicky's chest at the end of the night.

(The myriad mental health professionals he's seen over the years for anxiety have clearly been missing a key element of their educations, given absolutely none of them prescribed a beautiful Italian man as a coping strategy.)

He blames that, ultimately, for his reaction when his doorbell rings at 7 pm on the following Saturday night.

There's Nicky, in his ugliest DPD uniform, holding a bouquet of flowers and looking as distinctly long-suffering as it's possible to look in a red polo shirt and grey shorts. He blinks long enough that Joe knows he's praying for strength (he did the same thing when Joe tried to flip a pancake the week prior) and holds the flowers out as he says, as flirtatiously as he can:

'I have a… _package_ for you.'

There's a brief pause where colour crawls up Nicky's chest, spills over his throat, and makes his cheeks glow ruddy red in the light.

Joe's subsequent howl of laughter is so loud next door's cat comes streaking out from under the hedge and legs it across the garden.

He has to move quickly, after the initial hilarity, to catch Nicky's hands before he can bury his burning face in the lovely bouquet he's carrying. He thinks his apologies might fall a bit flat, given he can barely speak for laughing.

'I _told_ you!' wails Nicky, not quite resisting being folded into Joe's arms. 'I _told_ you, this isn't sexy!'

'Oh _habibi_ ,' he's almost got a handle on his giggles now, but he can still hear Nicky's voice in his head saying _package_ , and it's making things difficult. 'You're exceptionally sexy, I'm sorry, I was just surprised.'

'I'm never doing anything like this again,' Nicky's voice is muffled, which is unsurprising really, given he's trying to become one with Joe's collarbone. 'The next time you want to experiment with dressing up, _you're_ wearing the silly outfit and doing the voice.' 

Joe holds him tightly and rocks him from side to side, pressing his grin to Nicky's soft hair.

'Of course, _habibi_. Whatever you say.'

* * *

Nicky meets Andy and Quỳnh in one go, much to Joe’s chagrin.

They’re three weeks past Nicky cooking him dinner, a handful of very successful dates down, and Joe is vaguely hopeful Nicky will invite him home with him after dinner (not that he would press, but he’s pretty sure he’s reading the particular edge to Nicky’s flirtation correctly). 

They started formally, all nice restaurants and upscale bars in Merchant Square, but after the first overpriced cocktail on their second date, a plate of crudités sitting untouched between their elbows, Nicky looked Joe directly in the eyes and said: 

‘If this is what you enjoy I’m happy to indulge you, but honestly, all I want in the world right now is a pint and some chicken wings.’ 

Joe had laughed uproariously and agreed, and they had downed their expensive drinks with none of the gravitas the cost or the presentation suggested they deserved and walked back to the city centre to find somewhere better suited to them both. Since then, everywhere they’ve gone has been somewhere they actually enjoy, impressive or not. 

It’s been a delight each time. 

Now, they’re sitting cosily in the Curlers Rest killing time until their dinner reservation. They’re sharing a bottle of wine, Nicky is toying with Joe’s fingers where they rest on his knee, and Joe is having a wonderful time. 

That is until Nicky tucks his nose under Joe’s ear, and rather than whispering sweet nothings or something more exciting, says something utterly insane. 

‘Those women have been watching us since we sat down. I’m not even sure they can see us though, they’re both wearing sunglasses.’ 

Joe has a sinking suspicion that he knows exactly who was staring at them, but in the off-chance he’s wrong, he’s as subtle as he possibly can be in looking over his shoulder. 

Across the room, by the stairs in a dull pool of yellow light, entirely inappropriate for sunglasses, are Andy and Quỳnh. In their glasses and Quỳnh’s incongruous wide-brimmed hat, they look like every cliché imaginable. Even as he watches, Andy picks up one of the bar’s tall menus and holds it just under her eyes. It does absolutely nothing to disguise her at all. Joe is distantly surprised they hadn’t gone as far as cutting eyeholes in a newspaper. 

With only the tiniest of groans, Joe squeezes Nicky’s knee one last time before letting go and getting to his feet. 

‘Excuse me, I have some friends to maim. Possibly murder.’

Nicky’s laugh carries him across the bar and delivers him to Andy and Quỳnh in a much better mood than he might have been otherwise. 

‘Really?’ He crosses his arms in front of his chest and gives them both the most disapproving glare he can muster. Impressively in unison, they both slide their sunglasses down their noses and look straight back at him. 

‘Really what, Joe?’ says Quỳnh, sweet as can be. Joe has long since learned better than to trust her when she uses that voice. 

‘Sunglasses, Andromache?’ He ignores Quỳnh in favour of her wife because he knows it rankles her and because he knows Andy can’t commit to a bit once it stops being funny. 

‘What Quỳnh wants, Quỳnh gets.’ Andy is a simple soul, and Joe loves her for it, but he also wants the beautiful man he left at the table by the door to not leave him because his friends think boundaries are things that happen to other people.

‘What did Quỳnh want this time, specifically?’ 

Andy and Quỳnh grin in unison. It’s only a tiny bit terrifying. 

‘I wanted to see this boy you spoke so much about,’ Joe mentioned him _once_. In a purposefully off-hand and distracted sort of way. ‘And if that came with a side of fucking with you, so much the better.’ 

Andy is very clearly laughing internally. Quỳnh is laughing externally. Joe knows a lost cause when he sees one. 

‘We have a table booked in half an hour. If I bring Nicky over to say hi, do you _promise_ not to stalk us to dinner?’ 

Quỳnh’s smile softens from mocking to genuine, and Joe breathes an internal sigh of relief. 

‘Of course. We would _never_. We just want to say hello, get to know him a little, you understand.’ 

Joe raises an eyebrow at her doubtfully but nods nonetheless. 

‘Lose the disguise, Carmen Sandiago.’ 

Nicky, when Joe turns around, is shamelessly watching them. He waves at them when Joe catches his eye, and Joe knows without looking that Quỳnh is waving back. He heaves a deep sigh, rolls his eyes again at Andy while Quỳnh continues to smirk, and crosses the room again, ducking under the low ceiling as he steps back towards their table. 

‘Ready to meet more of my friends?’ He knows his grin is somewhat strained, but Nicky smiles evenly back at him as though this kind of thing happens to him every day. 

‘Should I prepare for advance interrogation techniques and codes?’ There’s a spark of mischief in Nicky’s eyes, his smile a tiny tick in the corner of his mouth. Joe wonders what he’ll have to do to see that spark more often. He can’t wait to find out. 

Nicky stands and tosses his and Joe’s coats over his forearm. Joe lifts their drinks. 

‘Lead on, Mister Bond,’ teases Nicky, his smile growing, and Joe grins helplessly in response. 

* * *

Since Nicky came into his life, Joe’s interest in his Hello Fresh experiment has fallen more than a little by the wayside. Really, for the last few weeks, he’s let the orders continue purely to have an excuse to see Nicky twice on a Saturday. He wants to make an effort though, and so he puts his latest box to better use than all the ones prior. He cooks dinner for Nicky.

In deference to Nicky’s schedule, and to give them both time to prepare properly, he invites him for a (hopefully) homecooked meal on a Thursday night. He picked carefully, while browsing the meals, something simple enough that he can cook it, but hopefully interesting and unusual enough to entertain Nicky. 

All the mistakes Joe has made so far have been through not reading the instructions properly (he ignores the voices of a dozen teachers in his mind telling him the exact same thing over and over again all through school), so this time, he is extra careful. He reads every step and does every bit of prep possible before he actually starts to cook. He doesn’t really know what orzotto is, but it looks like some kind of rice, and it has two kinds of cheese and two kinds of vegetables, so it must be fairly tasty. He’s glad he read ahead when it turns out step six has to happen before step five, just to confuse him. He manages it though and has tenderstem broccoli ready to roast in the oven even as he boils the kettle for the orzo.

Nicky rings the doorbell as he adds the garlic and sundried tomato paste to the slightly-blackened onions. They’re not _burnt_ necessarily, not so much that he feels he should empty the plan and try again, just a little singed around the edges. He figures he has time enough (even though the recipe says to _stir continuously_ ) to dart to the front door and brush a kiss against Nicky’s cheek in welcome before running back. 

Nicky follows at a far more sedate pace, sniffing the air curiously and smiling at him when he catches his eye. 

The pot bubbles sluggishly, and Joe dumps in the orzo and the stock powder before he measures out the boiling water carefully. He stirs it in and lets it bubble while he throws the broccoli in the oven. Nicky stays silent as he focuses, and then smiles gently at Joe as he turns to greet him properly at last. 

‘This all looks very interesting,’ Nicky’s smile is clearer in his voice than it is on his face. Joe’s getting used to his restrained expressions, he finds them increasingly charming. ‘I can’t wait to taste it.’ 

‘I hope you feel the same when it’s on a plate in front of you,’ laughs Joe, stepping around the breakfast bar to kiss Nicky properly, passing him a glass of wine in the process. 

‘I’m sure I will.’

The meal comes together quickly, Joe stirs the gloopy possibly-rice as they talk about Nicky’s classes; Joe’s upcoming book launch; the date they have planned for Sunday. Little conversations that make the time fly by. Before Joe knows it, the timer on the oven starts to beep, and Nicky falls silent again as Joe mixes cheese through the mixture in the saucepan, and portions everything into two bowls. 

With the broccoli on top, and the little tomato salad and the sprinkle of feta, it all looks very professional he can’t help but think. Nicky certainly thinks so, he murmurs little words of praise as Joe passes him his bowl and settles next to him at the breakfast bar. He would have brought him through to the dining room again, but he wants to sit close to him, sue him. 

Nicky kisses his cheek before he takes his first bite. The thrill of it carries Joe straight through his own bite without noticing a single thing about it. 

The second bite isn’t quite so blessed. 

It’s… _bland_. To be generous about it. There’s a faint tinge of burnt onion and the dressing on the tomatoes is tangy, but ultimately, it’s a bowl of mush. Joe takes another bite to be sure and watches carefully as Nicky chews his way through with every impression of enjoyment, but he can’t change the truth. It’s like eating wallpaper paste. He sighs and lays his spoon down. 

‘I’m sorry, _habibi_. I tried really hard this time, I thought I could make it perfect for you. I don’t know where I went wrong.’ 

Nicky tuts, and pats his hand. 

‘I think you did a fine job with a full recipe, Yusuf. You did everything just right.’ 

‘I burnt the onion.’

Nicky laughs, full and bright. ‘That’s how I know it was all you.’

Joe laughs too, and by mutual silent assent, they both push their bowls away from them. 

‘I think it’s time to give up on Hello Fresh,’ says Joe ruefully, reaching for his phone to order them something in for dinner. ‘Clearly, I’m not destined to master cooking from a box and recipe cards.’ 

‘Why did you carry on for so long?’ Asks Nicky, leaning over his shoulder and pointing at his choice. 

‘Aah—’ Joe rubs his beard, hoping his embarrassment isn’t obvious. ‘Well, at first I was having fun, and then I forgot to cancel it, and then…’ he trails off, spinning his ring on his finger for something to do with his hands. 

‘And then?’ Nicky’s voice is close and quiet, and he touches Joe’s wrist lightly. 

‘And then it was an excuse to see you each week.’

There’s that tiny smile again, creeping across Nicky’s face. Joe leans his head on his hand and watches it grow. Nicky looks at him from under his eyelashes, and it’s just as devastating as it was the first time he did it. 

‘I don’t think you need an excuse anymore,’ says Nicky, lifting Joe’s hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. In a slight haze, Joe thinks it just might be the smoothest thing he’s ever experienced. 

‘I guess I don’t,’ he can’t help but laugh, a curious sense of relief bubbling in his chest. 

Dinner is curry, eaten on the couch while they watch a somewhat dire movie and laugh at the terrible special effects. Joe’s heart feels like it’s growing in his chest, expanding to make room for all the new things he’s feeling for Nicky. He doesn't think it'll ever stop.

* * *

Joe genuinely wants to make a good impression on Nile. He always wants to make a good impression on anyone he meets, but Nile is important. Nicky loves her, is closer to her than anyone else by the sounds of it, and it's important to him that Nile at least _likes_ him. 

So, when he wakes up with his nose pressed against Nicky's neck and Nicky's arms wrapped tight around his waist on the day he's due to meet her for the first time, he thinks it's a good omen. 

The way his vision starts to judder around midday suggests otherwise. 

He doesn't want to worry Nicky though, so he takes his pre-migraine preventative and hopes from the bottom of his heart for the best. 

By the time they reach Nile's flat that evening, every light might as well be a floodlight trained directly on his eyes. The pain hasn't started yet though, so when Nicky pushes the box of carefully iced biscuits into his hands with a smile, he smiles back. He can make it through a party before the migraine truly sets in; he knows he can. He's made it through worse.

Nile, when she answers the door, is a stunningly beautiful young black woman with a bright smile and kind eyes. Joe loves her instantly, purely on the strength of the gentle hug she folds Nicky into as soon as she sees him.

She is also, he realises with a very quiet dawning dread, a woman who enjoys burning vanilla-scented candles. The smell digs into his head almost as soon as the door opens. 

He grins at her though and holds up the box at Nicky's urging. He really is quite proud of his new-found skill at icing biscuits, the watercolour flowers came out far better than he expected. 

Nile urges them in, ushering them towards the kitchen to set down the biscuits and the bottles of wine Nicky brought, introducing them in passing to the handful of other people milling about the flat. It's a beautiful home, all soft furnishings and bright colours, with framed art prints on every wall. She's lit the space with an eclectic and charming collection of fairy lights and lanterns, and Joe can tell right away that they're going to get along great. 

Nicky frowns at him when he chooses water over wine, but doesn’t question him in front of Nile, which Joe is more grateful for than he can say. He knows he’s only frowning because Joe had been looking forward to trying the expensive bottle Nicky picked up, but Nicky’s not remotely the kind of person who would push someone to drink when they don’t want to. 

He gets distracted though, showing off Joe’s work to Nile as she exclaims over the delicately iced biscuits, and Joe takes the opportunity to steal Nicky’s jumper from the pile of coats. He can feel the chills starting to set in, and he doesn’t think it’ll make a good impression, hunting through Nile’s flat for blankets. He wraps himself up and smiles at Nicky when he turns to face him again. Nicky’s frown deepens. 

Once they have their drinks, Nile sweeps them back out into the living room. Her friends are playing a card game that even from a distance looks complicated. The pile between them all is far larger than one deck could cause, and no one is speaking, but most of them are laughing. One of them plays an ace and crows like a rooster, only for another to snap their fingers. 

‘Penalty!’ she cackles, pointing at the crowing player. ‘Failure to moo on a spade.’ She pulls a card from the stacked deck in front of her and holds it out to him. 

The previous player groans, but takes the card nevertheless. The next person goes to take their turn, but before they can, a different player points at the first. 

‘Penalty! Failure to thank the Chairman.’ The entire group laughs as the first player groans again, taking another card with a prompt and only slightly-sarcastic _thank you, Chairman._

Joe watches them with a raised eyebrow and jumps slightly when Nicky nudges his side. Nicky’s frowning at him again. 

‘Nile was asking about your new book, _tesoro_.’

Nile is smiling at him, and Joe smiles back. 

‘It’s a collection of poems and essays about growing up in the Netherlands, and my family’s connection to the Maghreb,’ he says, leaning more against Nicky as he settles into the conversation. ‘My mother is from Tunisia, my father is from Morocco. I spent a lot of time in all three countries growing up, so it felt natural to write about them.’ 

Nile asks him a question about his poetry, and Joe answers as best he can, but the threads of the conversation start to slip from him. He’s very aware of the increasingly-dramatic game being played to their left, and the smell of vanilla seems to grow stronger around him with every minute. Blessing that he is, Nicky asks Nile about her own work and takes the attention off Joe for a while.

The minute his migraine clears, Joe will feel guilty for being so quiet at Nile’s party, but right now he can feel a dull ache growing behind his eyes, and it’s all he can do to keep them open. He hears Nicky laugh, but the sound is distant. Someone barks like a dog across the room, and the sound echoes in Joe’s ears. 

‘ _Tesoro_ ,’ Nicky is right in front of his eyes all of a sudden, his broad hand cupping Joe’s jaw. Joe blinks hard and tries to focus on him. ‘ _Tesoro,_ why didn’t you tell me you’re unwell?’ 

Joe tries to laugh it off, straightening his back from where he’s slumped down into the couch (he hadn’t even noticed himself doing it, which isn’t a great sign).

‘I’m fine, _ya amar_ ,’ he digs down deep and finds a broad smile. ‘It’s Nile’s night, and you were so looking forward to it. Enjoy the party, it’s just a little migraine, give me a moment and I’ll be fine.’ 

Nicky’s frown is usually just the tiniest wrinkle between his brows. Now, however, it’s a deep twist to the corner of his mouth. 

‘How could I have fun while you suffer?’ He kisses Joe’s forehead and steps away. Joe resists the urge to trail after him like a child, instead, he tucks Nicky’s cardigan closer around his ribs, and tries to focus on the game Nile’s friends are playing again. Someone has just played a queen and announced _all hail the Glow Cloud_. The rest of the players respond _all hail_ in a truly eerie moment of synchronicity. 

Nicky is back in front of him again. Joe hadn’t even noticed him coming back in the room. He feels his jacket settle over his shoulders, and looks back to see Nile looking at him with naked concern. 

‘I’ve ordered a taxi, Joe,’ says Nicky, his voice low and quiet. ‘Let’s get you home.’

Joe wants to protest, wants Nicky to have the night he was looking forward to, wants to get to know Nile properly, but he finds he just doesn’t have the energy left. He nods slowly instead and lets Nicky help him to his feet. 

‘I’m so sorry, Nile,’ he starts to say, only to be firmly but gently shushed. 

‘Don’t worry about a thing, Joe,’ she says, smiling at him again, and helping him into his jacket properly. ‘It was lovely to meet you, we’ll see each other when you’re feeling better. I know we’re going to be great friends.’ 

Nicky kisses her cheek, and then wraps his arm firmly around Joe’s waist, turning him gently towards the door. 

‘Have a lovely night, Nile,’ he says over his shoulder. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’

Nile waves them off, and Joe gives himself permission to let go of his focus, trusting Nicky to see him to the taxi safely. 

When the taxi pulls up in front of Joe’s house, Joe is fully prepared to kiss Nicky goodbye and collapse into his bed. He even gets as far as reaching for his wallet to pay for the first half of the journey, when Nicky surprises him by gently but firmly pushing his hand down and handing the driver money from his own pocket. He gets out of the car before Joe can really catch up with what he’s doing, and appears around the other side to help Joe out before he can even blink. 

‘You don’t have to do this,’ says Joe as Nicky escorts him to his front door. Nicky’s digging in his pocket for his key with his spare hand. Joe remembers the joy on his face when he gave him to him. It feels like much more than a week ago. ‘You should go back to the party, I’ll be fine.’

Nicky gives him a flat look as he opens the front door. 

‘Do you want me to go?’ Nicky’s tone is more serious than Joe has ever heard it, but his eyes are tight with concern. 

‘No,’ says Joe, looking at his feet. ‘Not really. But I won’t be much fun for a while.’ 

Nicky scoffs and helps him out of his coat as Joe kicks his shoes off.

‘I think you underestimate how fun I find you in general,’ says Nicky matter of factly. He tugs Joe up the stairs by the hand. ‘If you think that being unwell will make me feel differently about spending time with you.’ 

Nicky doesn’t turn any lights on as they move through the house. The street lamps outside shine through the windows enough that they can find their way to the bedroom without incident, but even when they get there Nicky keeps them in the dark. He sits Joe on the bed with a kiss to his forehead and digs confidently in Joe’s chest of drawers for a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. He passes them to Joe with another kiss, and a soft order to get changed before he leaves the room.

Joe does as he was told, the dark and cold of the room already helping the throbbing pain in his head. He can’t smell vanilla anymore when he changes his t-shirt, and he lobs his clothes into the washing basket with no small sense of relief. 

Nicky gets back as he’s climbing into bed. He has a glass of water and a folded tea-towel, and just the sight of him is enough to make Joe smile. His smile grows when Nicky flutters his hands at him until he climbs under the covers. 

‘I hope this helps,’ he whispers before he lays the folded towel over Joe’s eyes. It’s damp and cold, and Joe can’t help but groan quietly with relief. 

There’s rustling as Nicky gets ready, and Joe can just about make out the tiniest burst of light as Nicky steps into the en suite to brush his teeth, but it’s distant and doesn’t hurt. 

By the time the bed dips with Nicky’s weight as he settles in beside him, Joe’s already half asleep. 

‘Thank you, Nicky,’ Joe whispers into the dark, reaching out blindly for Nicky’s hand. Nicky scoots closer and rests his head on Joe’s shoulder. 

‘You don’t have to thank me, _tesoro_ ,’ whispers Nicky. ‘You just need to feel better.’ 

‘You make me feel better.’ It’s true. Joe doesn’t doubt that if Nicky had waved him off at the door he would have been fine, but this is better. This has all the trappings of an actual loving relationship. He feels warm to his core.

Nicky kisses his cheek with aching softness. 

‘Go to sleep, Yusuf.’ 

‘Goodnight, Nicky.’

‘Goodnight.’ 

He loves this man, Joe realises as he drifts off to sleep. He can feel the gentle brush of Nicky’s breath on his collarbone. He really and truly loves this man. He wants to spend the rest of his life with him.

He can’t wait to tell him. 

**Author's Note:**

> too soft? not soft enough? I'd love to know what you thought of this, because I don't know what _I_ thought of this :D 
> 
> Also, first person to tell me what card game Nile's friends are playing gets to claim a drabble of their choice. 
> 
> Catch me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/raedear_writes) and [tumblr](https://raedear.tumblr.com)


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